


wandering hands

by xxpaynoxx



Series: futbol ficlets [10]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8025385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxpaynoxx/pseuds/xxpaynoxx
Summary: 52) things you said with my lips on your neck





	wandering hands

**Author's Note:**

> God, I love these two.

They don’t talk much, at least during sex.

Neymar is normally a pretty open person, talkative on the pitch negatively and positively, but when he’s with James, he can’t string words together.

Especially when James’s hand is down his pants.

He whines, loud as ever as the Colombian’s lips press against his neck, his hand moving deftly along his shaft, the other pressing his hips down so he doesn’t jerk up into his grip.

“I love the way you moan, Ney,” he whispers, and Neymar lets out another pathetic whine, fingers clawing at James’s hair. There are words there, stuck in his throat, but he can’t vocalize them, so he just makes the noises.

Luckily, it gets the point across, because James starts to go faster.

“You look so good like that, _God_ , Neymar, you’re like pure sex. Come on, baby, come for me.”

Neymar is shuddering now, and James can tell he’s close, his eyelids fluttering as his moans start to jump octaves, but he grabs Neymar’s chin and forces his eyes open, staring right into his eyes.

“I want to see you come,” he growls, and Neymar lets out a weak _J-J-James_  before his pupils dilate and James can feel it all over his hand, warm, wet drops stain his hand and Neymar’s shorts, his teeth appearing on his lips as he grimaces and strains to keep his eyes open for James to watch his climax, letting out a brief  _fuckfuckfuck_ as he comes down from his high.

Neymar’s head falls back on the pillow, and James brings his hand out, wiping it on a tissue from the bedside table, before curling up against his, latching his lips to his neck.

“I love you,” he whispers, and Neymar responds with crushing their lips together, his frame still shuddering in James’s hands, but when he says _te amo_  shakily against his lips, James smiles.


End file.
